Lone Clocks Tick
by drippingwithsin
Summary: The empty love of a married woman is just not enough.


**An:** Just a little something based off the song Stay by Sugarland

**Warning: **Mostly just incredibly sad**  
**

_It's too much pain to have to bear  
__To love a woman you have to share_**  
**_So why don't you stay**  
**_

Dull brown lifeless eyes stared blankly at the cheap clock glaring mockingly downward upon her from across the hotel room, each tick seemingly louder then the last and each movement quicker. Experience has taught her that it would only be a matter of time before that hauntingly shrill sound would breakout and once more she would be left to drown in the pit of loneliness. With spindly coltish legs tangled in crisp white sheets long since heated by bouts of their supposedly 'lovemaking' and silky chocolate locks fanned across a damp pillow, Andy laid there, counting the minutes, and waiting with baited breath.

A few more precious moments of silence and prayers to kept something that was already taken.

And there it was right on schedule, that horrible shrill of a banshee's call so famous for plunging the proverbial knife just a little bit deeper into Andy's soul with each and every ring. Even with the knowledge of it's arrival Andy still felt her longing heart plummet. Fantasy once again shredded only to be replaced by the chilled hardened embrace of reality.

The sound of ruffling fabric then the scraping of a hard object upon another. "Hello." the greeting was rough and whiskey laced. "The shoot took longer then expected so I decided to stay at hotel" A pause. "What would you had me done Stephen drive home at three in the morning." Another lie to add to the already mile long list of one Miranda Priestly.

Andy turned half her body toward the other occupant, meeting those still hazy sapphire irises with her own chocolate ones, wide and doe-like they pleaded on bended knees for other woman not to leave, to just stay in her arms forever.

More words are exchanged followed by a reluctant "Alright I will be home shortly." Bile burned the back of already tightened throat, once again she is denied. Feeling utterly used and helpless, Andy turns back to the cursed clock. A soft gentle hand touches her hip. "Andrea I ha...just go." She interrupts, cringing at just how defeated those two words sound falling from her quivering full lips.

A ragged breath, the toss of heavy covers, and the light thump of dainty feet upon stained carpet. The routine sounds, all too familiar and soul retching.

The door shuts with a sharp click, lids weighed down by tear soaked lashes slip tightly shut, in a vain attempt to block everything out. She sobs quietly until a heaving chest is sore and the white in chocolate eyes take on a crimson hue.

The minutes drag onward, agony suddenly metamorphosis's into anger. Flinging the sheets to the side she sits up, mind a whirl wind of emotions, fingers curl around sheets tightly enough to cause knuckles to turn white and perfect teeth grind together. She is so very tired of worrying about everything but herself. With everyone of these little trysts, Andy could practically feel pieces of herself fade away but what does Miranda truly sacrifice? Nothing pure nothing except maybe an hour of her time and a pair of panties.

Bitter salty tears trail hot paths down pale smooth cheeks as Andy's throbbing conscious comes to an agonizing decision. It has to end. She could no longer be the second best thing, the bed warmer, the rich_ man's_ whore. She growls. She would not be someone's fucking whore.

A shaking hand reaches towards the night stand and snatches the long forgotten device thrown there last night. She decides not to call instead, opening the inbox, she begins to type.

_Miranda, __I can not keep doing this. I feel as though I'm losing myself and you just keep on taking and taking. Promises of divorce and love are declared but we both know that the divorce will never happen and I'm sure that you do love me, to a certain degree_. _It's not enough though it will never be enough. So for your sake and mine forget this number_,_ forget about our little 'meetings' and most importantly forget about me. _

It was done and all she felt was a bastard mixture of liberty and emptiness.

A minute later and the cell clutched within the confines of a stiff hand chirped, startling its owner to the point that the device found its way onto the floor. Quickly almost desperately she dove for it.

**Message received 9:36 a.m. From M. **Her heart began to pound and hot moisture dampened already slick palms. Through squinted eyes she pressed the button to open it.

_Call me_ _now__ M_

Oh, how tempting it was just to dial that memory engrained number and tell her it was a mistake, that she didn't mean it, and to just come back. She shook her head violently. No. This time she was going to do something for just herself. This time she was going live again.

**End**


End file.
